Footsteps
by LJKBananagirl
Summary: Having returned form R&R Molly lies in bed wondering how it all went so wrong.


**Footsteps**

I can't sleep. I've hidden in the medical tent, I can't be with the lads. Not tonight, I need to find some calm, some peace from somewhere. It's not the heat; I've got used to that. It's not the mission; although if I could stop my brain whirling for a second it probably should be.

I roll over for the hundredth time, kicking my feet around in my sleeping bag trying to untwist them from the fabric that simultaneously comforts and stifles. I try to concentrate on the monotonous sounds of the base; the generator chugging quietly behind the mess tent; the hum of the floodlights on the watchtowers; and the gentle padding of footsteps on sand. I focus on the footsteps, counting the gentle rhythm of each step. Whoever it is, they are pacing back and forth wearing a hole in the floor on each turn. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Turn, two, three, four, it continues back and forth. My own personal pendulum clock.

I feel as though sleep might at last be coming, I can feel my brain mentally closing a door on the bullshit of the day when the footsteps stop mid sequence, turn and start again. Then, the one voice that could stop me in my tracks every minute of the day utters an unmistakable "bugger it" and any images that I may have had of sleeping are banished.

The footsteps continue again, subtly increasing in volume, unmistakably coming towards me, and stop outside the outer skin. They pause briefly then the creator of said footsteps gently whispers; "Molly?". My heart stops. I'm frozen in my bed. One word, the name I've heard a million times, five letters, two syllables, but something in the way he says it signals a change. There is something here.

The zip slowly opens, I hear him step inside, take a deep breath and close the zip again. Another sign that sends my heart rate soaring. I try to tell myself to breathe, but I seem to have forgotten how to. He steps into my line of sight. The soft orange glow of the base lights illuminating his features, his confident Captain Stern Face aura gone. There is a stubbly shadow I've never seen before lining his jaw bones. I want to stroke it. His eyes, when I force myself to look at them, are sunken and hollow. His eyes lock with mine and its back, although honestly, I know it never went anywhere. That pull from deep inside, that makes my body feel as though it is not my own.

He makes to speak, but stops himself, bringing his hand to his jaw and massaging his cheeks as if trying to physically manipulate the words out. He takes a step closer and kneels in front of my bed, our eyes level. He looks broken. Instinctively my hand reaches forward, my fingers tracing a line from his temple towards his cheek. He dips his head into my touch, almost nuzzling into my hand and for a moment closes his eyes. When he opens them again, his pupils have dilated and there is an intensity to his state that doubles the ache deep inside.

He reaches for me, his fingers gently tracing where the now faded letters he wrote on my arm and simultaneously on my heart were formed. I close my eyes and for the millionth time replay that perfect moment. He finds his voice, it cracks as the words come out, "I thought... I shouldn't... We can't..."

His expression contradicts his words and I find I myself believing what is unsaid rather than the words that are struggling to come. A sigh, and he tries again, "You came back to me." It's a question more than a statement. A seeking of reassurance that we are still on the same page, that he didn't imagine our connection.

I nod. He brings his hand over mine that is cradling his cheek and turns slowly to place a kiss in my palm. Shock waves run down my spine and I feel a pure primal need to close any gap between us. I stretch up and pull myself towards him, the need for him overwhelming me. I bring my hands to the back of his head and rest my forehead against his, my fingers weaving through his soft curls. I nuzzle into the spot behind his ear, drinking in the scent of him, a heady mix that I commit to memory, already fearing this may be the only time I am ever this close to him.

We stay like that, frozen in time as our breaths synchronise. "I was so..." He admits. I don't say anything, just maintain my gentle rhythm at the base of his hairline. "I thought... I can't..." I know what he's unable to say. It's too much. It's too complicated. It's too dangerous. How can we stay focused on the mission if we're distracted by personal feelings? He doesn't have to say it, I've been thinking it all myself. A thousand times.

I ease myself back from his hold and look into his eyes. Like a lost boy rediscovering Peter Pan, I run my thumbs across his eyebrows and over the contours of his cheek bones. Slowly I trace my way from his shoulders, taking in every perfect groove of his biceps until our hands are joined. I admit defeat, "I know. There's rules about this for a reason."

His fingers link tighter with mine, his eyes flickering with unguarded relief that we are agreed. "Six weeks until Brize."

"Six weeks." I confirm.

"We could wait. Do you..."

"I do" I confirm. "I'll wait. I want you. All of you, not a sordid affair on tour." I blush at my directness but somewhere in this bloody hell hole I've grown up and realised I want more than a quickie around the back of a takeaway, however much my ovaries may be currently campaigning for the later.

He lets go of my hand and sits beside me on the bed, our knees touch neither of us ready yet to break the physical contact. His hands stroke my hair and his eyes follow as his thumb traces across my lip. "You're amazing."

"Shows how well you know me" I quip, the self-deprecation slipping out before I can stop it. "You hardly know me."

"You hardly know me." He counters, but that slightly cocksure smile is back. The one I see when I close my eyes, the one he gives me when he thinks I'm not looking. He knows he's got me. "We have time. We can do this properly when we get home. Spend time together, get to know each other. Go on a date."

He's inched closer to me while talking. I can feel his breath on my neck again, one hand twirling my hair between his fingers, the other tracing circles on my lower back. "And until then?" I ask, barely able to speak for the speed my heart is racing.

He leans slightly closer again, just a hair's breadth between his lips and the sensitive spot behind my ear. "We wait." He whispers, slowly pressing his lips against me. My forehead drops to his as the simultaneous agony of having and not having him overwhelms me. "We wait." He repeats as he kisses me again, and again, and oh, he's pressing his lips against mine. My body surrenders control and relaxes against him, accepting the kiss and responding in kind. My tongue darts back and forth against his, I can taste the bitter remnants of his coffee as we explore each other further. His touch is intoxicating, I want to stay like this forever.

I don't know how much time passes. Minutes, hours, days, who knows? Was it still today that I flew across the arid landscape back to him?

Somewhere in the distance my consciousness becomes aware of rotor blades approaching. My brain starts to run through the usual response to an incoming chopper: how many minutes away it will be; will my requested medical supplies be on board; will there be any post on board? Then a voice in my head reminds me that I came in with all that cargo earlier, if another chopper is incoming something must be happening. I feel the loss of him the moment our lips break contact. Slowly I open my eyes, he is looking at me with such intensity. "We wait?" I almost laugh and bite gently on my bottom lip to stop myself.

"We wait." He echoes, tipping his head back slightly towards the ever-escalating whir of the incoming rotors.

"You have to go." I move to let go of his hands, but he holds them tight.

"Six weeks?" He asks again.

I nod. Confirmation given. he leans forward once more, our foreheads resting against each other. I breathe in deeply and release him as he starts to stand. Slowly he steps away from me towards the edge of the tent. One last smile and then he's gone, and I'm alone again.

I flop back against my pillow and pull my sleeping bag around my shoulders. I count his footsteps taking a path towards the gates until I can't hear him anymore. I close my eyes, grateful for the sanctuary of my tent.

42 nights to go.

-OG- -OG- -OG- -OG- -OG-

Dear Readers,

If you made it this far, thank you for taking time out of your day to read this. I've had this ear worm in my head for a few weeks bugging me about writing again, and this scene with CJ pacing outside a tent kept coming into my head. I finally gave in and decided to try and write it, when another ear worm spoke up and told me I'd done this before. A failed hunt through my hard drive and a search through messenger later, I finally found an earlier draft of this sitting lost and forgotten in a message stream 18 months old between myself and the most supportive proof-reader you could wish for. I'm not sure where the courage to press publish again is coming from, other than the ear worm has worn me down and told me to untwist my knickers and get back to doing something for me, that I enjoy.

So, apologies if you have read this before and are disappointed that it isn't strictly new, but I do hope that its brought back some fond memories of those heady Series 1 moments. I'm re-watching episodes 4 and 5 tonight, and honestly I am so excited! The child is tucked up in bed (no more long snuggly bedtime cuddles when I used to type 1000 words with my thumb on my phone), the husband has been banished to another room, a G&T has been poured. Bring on twirly fingers, headsets and forbidden silhouetted kisses.

To those of you that remained focussed and alert, thank you. I needed some space for a bit, but I can't wait to catch up on the stories I've missed over the last year!

Love, Bananagirl!

P.S. If are so inclined to review, please use my pen-name so google is less able to connect the dots to the 'real' me! (This is partly why I disappeared before!)

xxx


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